I'm Just Trying to Outlaugh the Tears
by theorangedevice
Summary: Tony Stark lives on. Even if he wishes he doesn't.


**I'm Just Trying to Outlaugh the Tears**

* * *

 **Day 15**

For the first time since it happened, Tony smiled.

Not a real smile, of course. Not one that bubbles up like champagne bubbles after opening the bottle, expected yet unexpected at the same time. Not even the kind of smile that he forces for the paparazi or when his best friend Steve tells another lame joke.

You see, he tried – _really_ tried – not to think about Peter. Because when he did, when he thought about the dimples that studded his cheeks like twinkling diamonds, winking at him like he'd just made a joke, or the way his voice pitched up at down awkardly (puberty, am I right?), it made Tony want to smile.

And that's one thing he refused to do. To smile. To laugh. To give in to the good memories.

Why?

Because he knew a smile was like a key, and the moment he did, he'd open the door.

The door to his tears.

For the first time since it happened, Tony wept.

And he didn't know if he'd ever stop.

* * *

 **Day 78**

Tony Stark, your average genius billionaire, received his third phone call of the hour about another donation to another foundation benefiting another lost cause blah blah blah...

Don't get him wrong, Tony Stark cared about things. He really did. He cared about Peter. I mean, sure, he was a dumb kid who got himself into a lot (and I mean A LOT) of trouble. He gave him headaches on top of his headaches. But he cared. He cared more than he should have, and you know what? Watching him disappear, watching half the planet disappear with a snap of the fingers (and I don't mean figuratively –LITERALLY a snap of the fingers) puts perspective on things. Makes a man think.

And here's what he thought:

 _What's the point?_

* * *

 **DAY 121**

"It should have been me."

"Stop saying that, Tony."

"Can't stop. Won't stop."

"Are you trying to be funny."

"I haven't tried being funny in...let's see, how long ago was half the world murdered?"

"Look, it wasn't you, and it's not your fault."

"It was always my fault."

"Tony..."

"I'm sorry, Pepper. Except you know what? I'm not sorry. Peter's gone, there'll all gone, and I'm not sorry for feeling responsible."

"Why?"

"Because I _am_ responsible."

* * *

 **DAY 135**

There were so many ways to go. Gun. Noose. Poison. Drowning. Suffocation.

Of course, nothing beat a good old fashioned fall from the stratosphere, curtesy of his iron man suit.

Tony toyed with a lot of ideas. And, like any entrepreneur worth his salt, rejected all of them and came up with a new idea entirely his own.

He wasn't gonna go. He was gonna keep going on, keep reliving the moment when his heart was ripped out like a root, like a farmer uprooting his potatos, selling them to the highest bidder, boiling them, mashing them into something unrecognizable.

He was gonna keep living on, because living on without him – that was the worst hell.

And he deserved it.

* * *

 **DAY 201**

He thinks–

He _know_ –

He _**fears**_ –

He's starting to forget how Peter looked.

An idiot could tell him to just look at a picture. Genius Tony Stark has told himself this many times. But to Tony, that would feel too much like cheating. And so instead he settles into his favorite chair in his laboratory, the one that makes a soft _whoosh_ as he settles into the expensive leather, and begins to picture him in his mind. The brown hair, slightly disheveled. The youthful, lean body that hasn't quite gotten through the worst tantrums of puberty.

And the eyes.

There was something special about his eyes. Tony knew it the first time he had clapped his own eyes on the boy. Something inquisitive and intentional, like a balloon that knows exactly where it's going and is only pretending to be carried away by the wind. There was _purpose_ in his eyes, and indefinable quality that set him apart from other boys, other super heroes, other people in general.

But Tony couldn't remember if they were brown or blue, and he wracked his brain, bottle of whisky by his side, trying to remember. He raked over every minuscule memory he could think of, clawed the inside of his brain with a trowel trying to stroke the memories of those eyes back to the surface, to pinpoint that one specific hue that they must be but that Tony couldn't (wouldn't?) remember.

Brown?

Blue?

"What does it matter, when all they are is _gone_?"

* * *

 **DAY 365**

One year later.

Or one year too late?

* * *

 **DAY 450**

Perhaps for the first time in his life, Tony Stark wakes up early.

He's not sure why. He has no meetings, nothing on the schedule except for tinkering around in his lab and dodging calls from, oh, just about _everyone_.

But he wakes up early, and looks outside, and sees the sun rising on the western horizon. It's orange and tangerine and citrine and every other color that's really just orange, with a shades of pink and yellow and a little morsel of blue, like a trailer for a movie that's hitting theaters next week, and it's like Tony is seeing the preview for his own life.

The sun will rise again.

His son will rise again.

He just has to go find him.

* * *

 **DAY 623**

They defeated Thanos. They undid his evil that he wrought upon, not just earth, but the entire universe.

How they did it doesn't matter. What matters is this:

Tony saw him again, whole, complete, with BROWN eyes, and a voice that wasn't wracked with fear and sobs. He saw him again – the boy-almost-man who didn't hesitate when it was time to put his life on he line, who fought beside the Iron Man as courageously as any seasoned Avenger, even when he had algebra homework due the next morning.

He saw Peter Parker again.

"How was it, Mr Stark?"

"How was what?"

"How was life without all of us?"

"Sit down, kid. We've got a lot to talk about."


End file.
